


And So The Lamb Will Tame The Lion

by RageIncarnation13



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ancient Greece, Big Gay Love Story, Dom/sub, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Original Character(s), Power Dynamics, Slow Burn, sex later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RageIncarnation13/pseuds/RageIncarnation13
Summary: The brink of war means certain death for an unfortunate few in a city within ancient Greece, not just for the soldiers, but for the sacrifices given to the God of malice. Some make their own luck but others aren't so fortunate.





	1. Chapter 1

His legs were aching already, the hot Grecian sun beating down on his nearly bare shoulders. The other boys around him couldn’t be older than eighteen or nineteen, all of them equally gangly and awkward. He wishes he could focus more on the pain instead of the twisting knots within his stomach and the pitying glances of by passers. Cities far and wide had heard of the large and impenetrable walls of Kyros, a prosperous place far west of Athens. The city was on the brink of war with the neighboring cities over the embargo of goods and border conflicts. The huge gathering of people in the town square was the ceremony of the patron God Alastair, statues of the great being littered Kyros and his name lingered on the tongues of the religious nobles and peasants alike.  
This big of a gathering was not uncommon in the city’s main courtyard, but today had an uneasy feeling that accompanied the crowd. The townsfolk were gathered for an announcement, but most already knew by now that with the whispers of war and recruitment it couldn’t had been good news. Across the square atop the stairs a foreboding looking man in armor, he assumed it must be a general of some sort, raised his hands signaling the masses to quiet down. The boy could hear his blood rushing and his heart beat out of his chest in the deafening silence. Then the man spoke.  
“Good Greeks of Kyros!” His voice echoed off the marble walls, “Our great city has been spat upon by the likes of outsiders! We will show them the grave error of their insult!” He paused for a moment before shouting again, “We will challenge their strength in battle! WE WILL FIGHT!” though he kept speaking the frail boy in the crowd had stopped listening, the world around him spinning just slightly faster, it took every ounce of strength in his body not to collapse on the floor in front of thousands of people. War meant soldiers, war meant fighting and champions…war meant sacrifice…He was no champion, he was no soldier. Underfed and unskilled left him in the way of the devout. The very people shouting and cheering on their land were the very same people who would be cheering on a slaughter in a few weeks’ time.  
Sure they praised the strong and cunning Zeus and applauded the strong and grand Apollo, but to the citizens of Kyros, Alastair the God of fierce strength and unforgiving battle, was their reason for drawing breath, religious text had said he came down from the mountains to strike down the beasts that kept man from taming the land west of Athens. He was the so believed founder of Kyros and the patron God of their bloody wars. Every few years a virgin sacrifice was given to the barbarous immortal to keep him satiated or to bring luck for an upcoming battle. The weak and unsullied were chosen because the strong were needed for soldiers. He had nowhere to run to, no money to travel with, and no noble parents to keep him from harm. The scrawny brunet would be among the chosen Grecians to stand before Alastair and his brutal gaze.  
There had been rumors of people finding blood or entrails near the base of the mountain it is said The God had come down from, others claim to have found bodies completely torn asunder on the outskirts of town resembling the offered virgins. He wanted to run but his feet stood unmoving, his hands gripped tightly on his ragged robes. He guessed the mans’ speech had ended, everyone was yelling and milling around.  
He rushed from the courtyard, barely rounding a corner into an empty street before leaning and retching against a wall. His chances were slim he had to tell himself, there had to be at least twenty others in his same situation, rational thought was hard to keep a grip on when one’s life was in the balance. Running didn’t seem like a logical option, he’d die of starvation before he even reached Argos. Killing himself would get him the same result if he stayed…He shook the thought from his head. “I am not the only offering” He thought, “my chances are just as dim as the other unfortunate souls trapped in the hellscape of a city.” The boy stood straighter now, he would face his odds with pride, and by Zeus he would live to see the glory this war would bring.  
Navigating the streets was easy for someone who had grown up in them; living off the scraps of others and sleeping in secluded parts of the winding old structures. His mother had died in childbirth and his father had perished in one of the numerous conflicts the Kyrians seem to find themselves in. The older he got the more he had come to despise these disgusting people and their senseless violence, and words held no appropriate power for how much he detested and feared the God that created this violent place. Finally he made it to an open alleyway which was where he had recently been calling home, old cloth was scattered on the ground in a makeshift bed and that was all the indication anyone had been sleeping there. Sliding to the ground, he settled into a familiar distant feeling, but was unsuccessful in getting his mind away from the stone face of the statues that dwelled ominously all over the city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the great ceremony.

Alastair sat contemplating, looking down over the cliff side at his city below. Kyros had never bustled so much as it had in the last few days, it smelled of war. He smirked to himself, his followers had a knack for fresh spilt blood and gristle that stemmed from hatred. He loved to see his humans fight for his glory. He stood from his great stone chair, his form was well built and well over 6 feet tall in his basic human form, His hair was mussed and black and led into his short beard. He loved nothing more than to walk among his devout. Feel their loving, fixed looks upon his face, or better yet the fearful glances in his direction fueled his arrogant stride. Alastair also knew what this war meant, an offering just for him. A chance to root out the weaker members of his strong proud city. He wanted the sacrifices to prove that there was no room for the faint or dainty in Kyros.  
The brooding man stepped closer to the edge of his Cliffside temple and chuckled to himself. “The events of the next week should prove amusing.” He thought, and as though he had nothing better to do or nothing more interesting to be attending to, he watched the guards and soldiers usher smaller figures through the streets, thinning out the large crowd of possible victims of his next brutality. After an agonizing moon cycle he finally sensed it was time for his presence in the city square. The God’s stride as confident as ever, entered the palisade without hesitation or a second thought. His long black robes trailed behind him as he climbed the grand staircase as the onlookers shrieked and cheered his name. His face was like stone as he shifted his gaze over the huge crowd. The Gods ever present frown was as unsettling as it was intriguing. Alastair silence the crowd with one short wave of his hand. And without a single word his prizes were lead out before him. All of them trembling and boring holes into the marble at their feet with their eyes. All their garments were equally tattered and old as if they had torn the cloth from sacks. Dirty skin and sunken eyes were also a common theme. He slowly, agonizingly scrutinized each boy, his angry glare was enough to send one of his prizes almost to his knees in fear. It took every fiber of his being not to crack a smile at the petrified boys.  
As he made his way down the line, each offering just as unoutstanding as the last. He had nearly grown bored when he had reached one particularly different mortal. The small boy, no older than twenty, met his eyes. Though he looked frightened to his core, he refused to look away from the intimidating God. The brunet was much shorter than him, thin features and his olive skin was pale and his eyes a soft hazel. His jawline and collar bone stood out a little from malnourishment; the Gods must have taken extra care when crafting this mortal, each detail of his face sang with a kindness dulled by the world of man. The bearded God narrowed his eyes just slightly, pointed at the boy for a second before his powerful voice echoed through the pillars and halls,  
“What are you called?” His voice had a powerful ambiance as the mass of people stayed dead silent.  
He took an awestruck moment to respond, “Milos, my Lord.” His weak voice managed to get out. He shook so hard he thought his skin might shake right off. Alastair did not look away from him for a second as he addressed the crowd. “Get this boy some proper clothes, send him to my chambers within the hour…”  
“Would you like the boy restrained?” A priest questioned.  
“No, this one won’t run.” Alastair took a short second to turn to Milos and smirked, “Will you?”  
A weak, defeated “N-no my Lord.” Was all that the young boy could muster.   
The great God took a breath “Blessed be your war men, the fates favor your journey.” And without flourish he turned and stalked off into the temple. He could no longer conceal his furrowed brow, this sacrifice was different somehow…Milos was different somehow.   
The orchid and poppy flowers that filled the temple contrasted against the stark white marble pillars and floors. From outside the large square led into an equally big hall, teeming with priests and followers alike. Various halls went to different smaller rooms, one in particular was the entryway to the main section of the cathedral where a detailed sculpture of Alistair himself sat proudly. This was his favorite place to come and bask in the reverence of his people, their praise filled the air and his ego. The perplexed God stood still for a beat as he took in his familiar surroundings, Kyros teemed with excitement this day and hopefully the days leading up to the great battle. That’s usually what went through his head when a decisive bloodbath was near, but he could only think of- His thoughts were throw to the wind when he heard approaching footsteps. “How long have I been standing here?” He wonder to himself. Two guards were escorting that boy in, his hands clasped so tightly in front of him his knuckles grew white. Alastair watched them draw nearer, he noticed Milos’ rags had been forgone for eggshell white robes, synched at the waist with golden colored rope. His bare feet were now clad in ornate sandals and he appeared leagues cleaner. His eyes still held the same terror, his bottom lip looked as if he tried chewing a hole through it. 

Alastair tore his eyes away from the lad, and dismissed his escorts. With the other men gone Milos seemed tremble only slightly harder. The taller of the two said nothing as he made his way to the buildings exit. He had to look back and grimace at the boy to signal him to follow. As he walked he payed close attention to the dainty footsteps the trailed behind him, being sure the human wouldn’t try running off…as if he could outrun a God. The sound of Milos’ sandals echoing of the stone floor was deafening compared the Gods seeming silent, float like walk. It took all his self-control not to whip around and grab the slower boy by his arm and drag him along faster; gritting his teeth and speeding up was his way of showing the mortal he was dawdling. Alastair was eager to return to his reclusive dwelling within the mountain range. The toll that came from being around these humans had already started grating on his short temper and frazzled his nerves. At first the gawking and awe was pleasant, making him feel important and not just some forgotten God on the backburner in the mind of that wretched Zeus or that vain Poseidon. His scowl deepened as his thought himself into a corner and drained his own mood. The heavenly glow that surrounded him darkened by a fraction and his visage caused the onlookers in the street to cast their eyes elsewhere as the God paraded his offering through the streets towards the entrance to the city.  
“My Lord!” A gatesman called after him “Leaving so soon? You have just arrived; stay and revel! It is time for drink and celebration!”  
Alastair stopped in his tracks and turned to look the man, “I come and go as I please.” He spat through gritted teeth. “Be grateful that your slight does not cost you your pathetic life.” With that the incarnation of rage made his leave with his little prize in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This original work will update every week! Any questions or comments? message me @rage-incarnation or fake-ah-wip on tumblr! comments and critiques are appreciated and welcomed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long Journey to the mountain top.

The sky was clear and crystal blue, Apollo had long since begun his trek across the great expanse. Milos tried his best to steady his breathing, he and his terrifying captor had been walking towards the he assumed was the Gods’ dwelling for what felt like days. He hadn’t quite honed his skill of completely distancing what was his inevitable future from the forefront of his mind. Stumbling and slowing down was out of the question; the taller, stronger being refused to slow his brutal pace even by a fraction to accommodate his prize. For fear of retribution or worse, the brunet didn’t speak up about it, but instead ran himself ragged very quickly, attempting to keep up with an immortal that felt no strain. Unaccustomed to footwear, his sandals cut and restrained the boy’s feet; his shorn hair had been drenched in sweat and tired eyes squinted against the harsh sunlight. By the time they had both reached the base of the Gods’ great mountain, Milos was close to fainting. Being delirious and thirsty didn’t help the grotesque terror that brewed in stomach, surely this was the end of the line for the young Grecian, there was no way Alastair would wait for him during the long climb and not a chance in Olympia that he would carry him, let alone touch an ungrateful dirty mortal.   
He heaved but nothing came, almost too starved to vomit, but the last shred of his dignity wouldn’t allow him to throw up in front of the smug prick standing a few yards away. As much as he wanted to lay down and rest, even if just for a moment, His Lords horrifying stare would occasionally fall on him and he did not want to be more vulnerable than he already felt. Sucking in air sharply he started up the steep cliff side alongside Alastair, but the bigger man grabbed his shoulder as gently as a being that size could. Milos’ short life flashed before his eyes and he grew scared again for a second before he realized his captor was thrusting a small leather water skin into his shaky hands  
“Drink it,” His growled, “hurry, the daylight grows shorter.”  
He did not hesitate to take the water down, not considering that it might be poisoned. Gulping down the contents and gasping for breaths in between swigs took only a minute or two before he finally became satisfied with his distance from passing out. He handed the empty pouch back to the black haired brute and muttered a quick, “Thank you my Lord.” And waited for him to proceed up the mountain behind him. Breaking eye contact with such an other-worldly aura was so difficult, paired with the powerful, intimidating air that surrounded the God of malice, at the same time it was hard to look at him. His pale skin had almost a glow, his ebony hair was off putting too, but most of all Alastair’s eyes were the godly gold that man could never have and they were piercing and fierce. For what felt like an eternity he stared at Milos with a disapproving frown on his face, then just as quickly he turned from him and resumed their journey.  
The climb didn’t take as long as Milos had previously thought, but the uphill was unforgiving. It didn’t take him long to take his sandals off and sling them over his should as he went on. Unsurprisingly His Lord made amazing progress and was ahead of him considerably, though not far enough for Milos to see an opening to run far away from here, from Kyros, and mostly from the horrid people who lived there. He tried not to worry himself over his worth, thinking about how a man of religion could willing give up another person’s life as if he had no mind of his own, feelings of his own, a beating heart of his own. He shook his head as if it would shake the thought right out of his mind. Living in the now didn’t seem like an option, because there didn’t seem like much of a now, only and if and when. If the great God would be vicious and slow with the murder and when he would be struck down, but… “I am still alive now, aren’t I?” Milos thought, “I could still survive this, I just have to play it smart.” The rest of his thought was abruptly halted when he pulled himself up the final ledge and came face to face with what could only be described with the earthly word of palace. A great garden, though overgrown and not well manicured, lay in front of large rows of pillars that acted as an entryway into a huge building. It looked much like the temple back in his city of birth, but with much more grandeur and detail unachievable by human hands. He would have stood gaping if not for the pain in his stomach, despite the illustrious architecture his body thought nourishment was far more important at the moment. Before Milos could muster a word, the edges of his vision faded in and out, he became furiously dizzy and dropped to the ground in a desperate attempt to make the world stop spinning so swiftly. His best efforts were no match for his body as he slipped into the dark and lay still in the dirt, the last image in his mind was the large figure of his God standing over him as he fainted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was there any use for such a weak mortal?

It was difficult not to hover and worry over the sleeping mortal. He had convinced himself that the only reason he didn’t let the boy starve outside was that would be a pitiful way to waste a sacrifice, but... deeper down there were feelings he held on to tightly for the interesting new subject he toted up the mountain. He could conceive no viable reason to keep Milos around, he was not strong or broad, he did not worship the ground the God walked upon, and he had a spark of hope in his hazel eyes that was buried deep beneath the glazed terror that was harbored there. He eventually gave up waiting on Milos to awake and made his way to his own private chambers.  
The pristine walls and intricate tapestries did not hold his gaze on this evening, instead his inhuman eyes were cast to the stone floor, lost in thought. Alastair pondered in what way he would aid the Kyrians this time around, provide holy weapons? Curse the opposing side? Fight alongside them? He chuckled to himself; he hadn’t fought alongside his people in a great time. At times the God missed it, the adrenaline and triumph, but as of late all he could seem to do was pace about his dwelling and watch the city below, he had created his own township to metaphorically spit in the faces of the higher Gods that displayed their power in abundance on Olympus. Here, Alastair was the creator; the life giver, and the prodigy of battle. It fueled his egotistical personality and his desire for patronage and attention.  
But all of this was so meaningless in the end, he still was no rank close to Zeus or even that damned fool Dionysus. He scowled at the thought of those buffoons drinking their ambrosia and disgracing the name of the Gods by turning women to cattle and playing arbitrary tricks. He stopped his thoughts in their tracks, he had always had a way of thinking himself into a violent rage; he practically threw himself into his throne, his large form made an audible thud upon contact with the marble. Alastair set his chin upon his fist and stared blankly at the wall, attempting to distance himself from his anger, he snapped back into reality when he heard distant movement, temporarily forgetting that he had a “guest”. The poor city dweller was nearly skin and bones, clearly street bred, clearly his days were numbered far before the brooding God got his hands on him. Perhaps he should conjure the boy some food… Gods had no need to eat, but he was not above keeping his token from Hades’ gates.  
He was sure that there was a use for the mortal, he could keep him occupied with keeping the temple at an acceptable cleanliness, manicure his gardens, and polish his many weapons. A small smirk spilt across his cold expression; keeping the boy around until the temple was back to the magnificent state it had once harbored then getting rid of the pest would prove useful. Alistair couldn’t help getting lost in thought over seeing his sacrifice falling all over himself to keep his miniscule life just a tad longer. Soon he would be scrambling to please his captor, see the fight deep in his eyes slowing be replace with loyalty, or maybe even adoration.  
The God let out a sigh, this would be an interesting sight to behold, and after he had had his amusement he could get rid of it. Standing up gracefully he began to wander the halls once more, perhaps see if his plants possessed any fruit he could give to the young man to help regain his strength. Milos would need it if he was to keep up with the Gods demands. The tall immortal made his way to the rolling green plants outside and looked halfheartedly for any of them that bore nourishment. After getting what he considered was an amiable amount of figs, he began the short trek to his wards chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Back! Sorry for the hiatus, i got caught up with work and school but hopefully i'm here to stay! any questions or comments? You can message me @rage-incarnation on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This original work will be update every week. Any questions? comments? Message me @rage-incarnation or fake-ah-wip on tumblr! comments and critique would be welcomed and appreciated!


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